


i can see you and me together (sort of)

by wonwoo420



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, minghao is a witch au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonwoo420/pseuds/wonwoo420
Summary: Minghao is training to hone his skills as a witch under his mother, who excels in fortune telling. When he meets a boy who comes in to get readings regarding the health of his sick grandmother and falls in love with him, he can see the moment when the boy falls for Minghao in return. Well, he can kind of see it. All he knows is that it will be raining. But that’s enough for him to drag Hansol out every time it rains to see if it will be the rain that brings his confession.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is no lesson in magic  
> There were untimely dreams  
> Where I knew  
> Woken in a fog don't sweat it  
> And reckon none of it  
> Had come from you  
> -purity ring| stranger than earth

Squeezed between large concrete buildings home to law firms and insurance agencies was a small house with pale-yellow siding and white shutters hidden by Boston Ivy. The front lawn was overflowing with long grass, wildflowers, shrubs, and weeds—only a narrow brick walkway leading to the front door interrupted the foliage. Without looking carefully, anyone would think it was just an oddly-placed residence, maybe a kitschy antique shop. But behind the door with an image of a palm on it (you know the kind, the one with the eye on it and everything, where the fingers are symmetrical and barely look as if they belong to a human hand at all) followed by the words in bold _PSYCHIC READINGS AND APOTHECARY_ was a small entryway; just a reception desk and a few chairs for waiting customers, a rubber plant finishing off the corner of the room.

This room was separated from her office by a purple velvet curtain that was just as cheesy as it sounded. She always told Minghao that customers were more apt to believe her readings if the setting matched what their minds conjured up when they heard the words _psychic readings._ She told Minghao customers believed more in the magic of her spells when they came out of a cauldron—not a saucepan.

Minghao’s mother’s office would resemble a therapist’s office, if it wasn’t absolutely filled to the brim with cliché relics that she thought people believed a witch would have in their office. The green tint of the room was overwhelming when you first stepped in, probably from all of the plants and herbs spread throughout the small office. The walls were lined with evil eyes of all different sizes. She had crystals of all different colors on chains nailed to the walls where space allowed; when the sunlight hit them, they dappled green leaves with amethyst and opal reflections. Every flat surface held candles of different heights, shapes, colors. Incense burned in the corner of the room, its smoke pooling around the ceiling. She even had a table with a crystal ball on it, resting atop the same purple velvet cloth that separated the office from reception. It was phony. Minghao’s mother used it when she did some readings for the more skeptical customers, feigning help from the cheap sphere.

Minghao’s mother looked like just another part of the room, her appearance blending seamlessly with the cliché décor. When she was in her office, she always had her hair tied back into a bun with a decorative comb. On the bridge of her nose sat small-framed glasses, a string of delicate beads keeping them around her neck. She always wore silk robes with customers—different prints and colors—usually over a simple shirt or turtleneck. Always light-colored pants—usually pale khakis. She did her best to look like the witch everyone remembered from story books growing up. It was all about setting the mood for the customers, in her opinion.

That was what she always tried to ingrain in Minghao’s brain. She told him that when she did readings for people, within moments of sharing the air, touching their skin in a handshake, she was hit with readings of their futures, and some of their pasts. It was already laid out for her before she even got to sit down with them.

But she also told Minghao that customers liked when she would stop mid-conversation and stare off into space, pretending to suddenly be struck with a vision. She said customers loved that, believing that they were watching the magic as it was happening. Minghao always whined that she was teaching him business practices instead of how to develop his talents. She would tell him good business technique was a talent. He would groan.

On busier days (when they actually had more than a handful of customers throughout the day) Minghao manned the receptionist’s desk in the tiny foyer when his mother did readings, looking about as out of place as any teenage boy would in a witch’s office. Ripped jeans, scuffed sneakers, and a perpetual look of boredom. Only his resemblance to his mother—who blended in with the office so deliberately—gave people the impression he was supposed to be there (and that they didn’t have to report a suspicious-looking teenager hanging out in the witch’s shop to the police again.)

When he had receptionist duty on busy weekends, Minghao would lean into the curtain and try to listen to his mother’s readings, fiddling with the fraying fabric of his hoodie sleeves in concentration. He really admired her, even if he didn’t tell her enough. She had such a delicate hand when mixing spells and remedies—some for purification, others for luck. She knew about every plant—what it did, what it could do mixed with others. She even seemed incredibly skilled at magic when she was teaching Minghao different incantations.

But of all of her talents, fortune-telling was her forté. Her readings were as accurate as they could be, vague as they were. Being psychic didn’t allow her to know the exact future, but she could predict emotions, weather, and people involved in certain future events. She could warn people of misfortune and illness, of what season it would be when they would conceive the child they’ve been trying for, and who in their lives would play important roles in either their good moments or their bad.

On the other hand, the best reading Minghao ever did was knowing that it would be spring when Mrs. Carver’s son would be accepted to college.

Minghao’s mother had let him sit with her and help do the reading—a supposedly simple reading about her son’s future successes. Sitting with Mrs. Carver, holding one of her hands in both of his, Minghao closed his eyes and tried to get anything he could from her. He wasn’t like his mother—he didn’t inherit her psychic abilities like she had hoped he would—so it took time for him to see anything, and he needed a physical connection to the recipient.

After moments of silence, stale air between the three of them, Minghao was beginning to get something. A vision was not much of a vision at all—but that’s what the customers liked to believe it was. It was more like getting the sensations of a scene--hearing voices, names, feeling the weather as if you were there. Feeling the raindrops on your goosebump-riddled skin. Hearing a voice, but not knowing to whom it belonged. Being transported to the scene that customers so desperately wished they could visit themselves.

For Mrs. Carver, all Minghao could offer her was the feeling of the spring air, the sound of the birds chirping, the smell of the apple blossoms when she asked to see how her son would do in college. When he concentrated, trying to get a better feeling of what spring would bring for Mrs. Carver’s son, all Minghao could get was the sensation in his fingertips that felt like touching paper.

“Does that mean he’s going to get his diploma? In the spring?” Mrs. Carver asked, fidgeting in her seat with excitement.

“Well, it’s more like, there’s something important about a letter. A white envelope, coming in the spring,” Minghao explained. “Perhaps this spring,” he added, “The sensations are pretty strong, it must be soon.”

“He got his acceptance letter just last week,” Mrs. Carver said, a little disappointed Minghao’s reading was telling her information that already happened.

“Oh.” Minghao sighed.

“That’s okay, you did your best,” Minghao’s mother cooed, playing with her son’s hair (she always hated the color, but she did say Minghao could dye it any color he wanted. He thought it made him look more mysterious, like he belonged in a witch’s office). Any psychic revelation from Minghao was a good one in her opinion. That was a big moment for her—her son giving a clear reading like that. She didn’t care if it was a useless reading. She was happy his senses were getting sharper. (They still needed to get _much_ sharper if he planned to follow in her footsteps and take over the shop, though.)

Minghao had tried to do other readings with his mother, even tried his hand at tarot readings. It was easier with the cards, he thought. The feelings, the sensations he got, were easier to place. Minghao’s mother didn’t need the cards like he did--she could place emotions and sensations without the reversed nine of cups telling her that things are looking up for her customer. The sensations Minghao would feel, maybe the chill in his bones, the grief in his heart, would make more sense linked to a card.

 

The two lived in the apartment above the small psychic’s office. Minghao thought it was pretty convenient to live so close to where you worked. He also liked that none of that cheesy “magic” paraphernalia made it into their apartment—and his mother’s cheesy little outfits didn’t make it either. Minghao’s mother knew what worked and what didn’t—it was obvious by the items she kept around their apartment. Maybe a gemstone here and there. An evil eye by the entrance. She even kept a _mezuzah_ on the doorframe leading into the apartment given to her by a close friend. She believed in the power of some things, but definitely not all the stuff the customers thought was legitimate. The media gave witches a bad image, but it was one Minghao’s mother had to keep up if she wanted any business.

The one thing Minghao could do without was getting up early, always awoken by the early morning customers getting their readings. When his mother was grinding herbs, boiling ingredients, Minghao could sleep through it. But not when she was with a customer. They weren’t loud, and neither was his mother. But the walls were so thin in old buildings like theirs, Minghao couldn’t sleep hearing that Mr. Wells was going to experience powerful grief come this winter.

 

Mr. Wells would ask what was going to happen. Minghao’s mother would respond that she couldn’t tell for sure—it didn’t work that way—but she could see him experiencing the pain that comes with losing someone close. And Mr. Wells would ask if that meant his wife was going to pass—even after buying the spell for good health from Minghao’s mother. And Minghao’s mother would respond that not all grief comes with death—and not all losses are of life. He would mumble that these readings were always too vague to be helpful. And Minghao’s mother would remind him that he was being charged by the minute and if he didn’t like the readings, he could always stop coming in. As much as he complained about the readings, Mr. Wells would always be back the first Sunday of every month.

He would always be back. To pick up the spells for his wife, at least.

 

***

 

Minghao’s mother let him try to do a reading on his own for the second time with another regular customer, a teenage boy from the neighborhood who came in maybe once a month for the past few months with questions about his grandmother’s health, in addition to picking up anything Minghao’s mother could make to grant her good health. Minghao had watched his mother brew the mix so often he figured he could probably recreate it by now.

Through the thin walls of the building, Minghao would overhear Hansol speaking to his mother about his grandmother. How she had a big part in raising him, being a constant in his life. Hansol obviously thought the world of this woman. And from what Minghao could gather, sometimes from either on the other side of the velvet curtain at the receptionist’s desk, or seated next to his mother in her office when she allowed him to sit in on the readings, or even leaning against the door that connected their apartment to the office, this woman did deserve the world.

Minghao often thought about how hard it must be for Hansol to worry about losing her—worried that even magic couldn’t save her. He wasn’t coming in because she was doing well—nobody ever visited the psychic when things were going well. Her constant battles with infections, even pneumonia, caused her to be hospital-bound. It was obvious she wasn’t getting better, or else Hansol wouldn’t be coming in for readings about her future, picking up the spells.

When Minghao’s mother got these kind of cases, she tried to keep her readings accurate, but tasteful. She would never say if a person lived or passed, even if she knew. She may warn of difficult times to come, advise of the storm ahead, but never let a customer know they would lose a loved one. She wasn’t going to play God or anything—even if she knew when people would leave this realm. She just tried to prepare their loved ones for what was to happen. From what Minghao understood, Hansol’s grandmother brought _difficult times to come._  

And so, when it was Hansol’s fourth or fifth time visiting Minghao’s mother for a reading, she told Minghao with a smile, “Why don’t you try giving Hansol his fortune today?”

Minghao’s eyes widened, nervousness chilling his spine. Sure, he was getting better, especially with the tarot cards, and his mother probably wanted to test his abilities with a customer she already had the reading for since their first meeting. She probably knew exactly what was to come. The sensations she got, the emotions she felt. She already knew. They weren’t going to change each time Hansol visited her. Maybe Hansol knew it too, maybe he didn’t. Sometimes the only thing people think they can do is keep hoping, keep coming in to Minghao’s mother, to show that they cared. Minghao doing the reading wouldn’t change the future or anything. Everything was already set in stone. Minghao’s mother just wanted to know if her son knew what she did— _what_ was set in stone.

But Minghao had never done a reading on his own with a real customer (not just trying to read his mother’s tea leaves after breakfast). Minghao knew Hansol’s situation was delicate—any time anyone came in regarding the health of a loved one, the situation had to be handled right—and Minghao didn’t think he was good enough for that yet. If he could even read anything.

But Minghao’s mother steered Minghao to the table she used with customers (the one covered with cheesy velvet) and forced him into her chair. “I’m going to go gather some plants from the garden. Do your best, honey,” Minghao’s mother said, placing a kiss on top of Minghao’s head before ruffling his silver hair (the color she hated so much).

When Minghao heard the backdoor close behind her, he released a sigh, and got back up to collect the things he figured he needed to do a reading—things his mother didn’t have to use.

“Sorry that you got stuck with me,” Minghao said, searching through the cluttered office to find the sage and the deck of cards. Minghao didn’t remember where he saw them last; he wasn’t sure when the last time his mother used them was.

“It’s cool. I trust you,” Hansol said with a smile.

Minghao stopped momentarily. He never had a customer tell him that before. Well, he never had a customer of his own before. It helped his calm his nerves, just a little bit, enough to remember where his mother kept what he was looking for. He retrieved the sage, a lighter, and a dish from the cabinet that he remembered his mother storing them in, returning to the table to begin burning the plant.

“It’s really quiet in here,” Hansol whispered, a laugh in his voice, much louder in the quiet room than he intended.

“Yeah, sorry. I need it to be really quiet when I do the readings,” Minghao replied after he got back up to fetch the deck. Returning to the round table, Minghao took the sage that was burning in the middle of the table and circled the deck with it. “It helps get rid of the past customer’s energy,” he told Hansol when he noticed he was giving him a curious look, placing the sage back on its ceramic dish on the table.

Minghao’s mother didn’t need any of this stuff to do a good tarot reading. All her powers were in her spirit. She wasn’t bothered by past energies, by sounds filling the room. Minghao wanted that for himself. But for now, this is how he had to do it to get the best reading he could. Handing the cards to Hansol, he said, “Okay, shuffle these while thinking of your question. Try to put all of your energy into the cards—thinking only of what you want answered.”

Hansol nodded, taking the cards between his long fingers and trying to shuffle them. They were larger than average playing cards—the tarot cards. This obviously bothered the customers who believed that they were actually good at shuffling when they found themselves struggling with the larger deck. Hansol was no different; trying to move the cards in his hands smoothly was a challenge. He spent a while with the deck, brows knitting together in focus. Minghao thought it was kind of cute, the energy Hansol was exerting onto doing the reading. It showed that he really did believe in this. In Minghao. The only other person to put their trust in Minghao’s skill like this was his mother.

Minghao didn’t realize how long Hansol had been shuffling for, lost in thought himself, when Hansol handed the cards back to Minghao, telling him that he felt like he was through with shuffling.

“You have to cut the deck. Into three piles,” Minghao said.

“Oh, sorry,” Hansol said, reaching back for the deck.

“With your left hand,” Minghao told him.

“What?” Hansol said, looking up at Minghao.

“It’s more connected to your spirit, or whatever.”

“Oh.”

“Keep thinking of your question.”

A sound of agitation escaped Hansol’s lips. Minghao knew it wasn’t directed at him, but Hansol’s brows returning to their focused position. The tongue that slipped out between Hansol’s lips showed Minghao that Hansol was frustrated with himself for forgetting to concentrate. While the silence was helpful to Minghao, it proved distracting to some customers. Focusing on shallowing your every breath, keeping your body still. It was obvious Hansol wasn’t made for silence, his breathing loud and nervous, left thigh shaking in focus.

Minghao brought his attention to the order of how the cards were placed, in what order they were cut. “Now you have to put them back.”

“Okay,” Hansol replied, Minghao watching how the three piles were put back. The third pile was on top. Of course it was, the question was about the future, Hansol’s grandmother’s future.

Hansol handed the cards back to Minghao and he turned the deck so it faced him and laid out the cards, the intricate pattern slowly filling the table. Before he even placed the tenth card, he realized Hansol wasn’t focused shuffling the cards. Seven of them were reversed.

“I’m sorry to make you do this, but you have to shuffle again. You weren’t focused enough,” Minghao said.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m psychic,” Minghao said, before adding a moment later, “Just kidding; seven of the cards are in the reverse position, which means the reading isn’t going to be clear.”

“Oh,” Hansol said, taking back the cards.

“But I _am_ psychic. Just saying.” That made Hansol smile. It was nice to see him smile. With what Minghao knew was going on with his grandmother, Hansol didn’t smile too often. Less and less with each visit. Minghao noticed how Hansol tried to cover it up with a stray chuckle every now and then, but it was obvious the boy carried negative energy. It didn’t take psychic powers to feel it.

The second placement of the cards came to no surprise to Minghao. The queen of pentacles was the fourth card placed in the Celtic cross, and Minghao didn’t bother asking Hansol what the question was. It was obvious now. He focused more on the sensations now, what Hansol’s question made him feel, and how it was connected to the cards.

When he tried to focus, calm himself, feel anything new, any sensation or emotion, the sensation of the cards under his fingertips being replaced with something else, Minghao was hit by an intense feeling of water, rain, heavy rain. He could feel it on his skin. The water against his eyelashes, pooling in his cupid’s bow. Large droplets were hitting his skin, nearly painful, cold water. A late summer’s rain. The breeze gave him goosebumps.

 _Minghao._ A voice said. Familiar. Why was it familiar? Why was it his own name? For _Hansol’s_ reading?

It was Hansol’s. Minghao couldn’t tell if it was actually Hansol’s voice in his head, or instead, Hansol’s voice from across the table, asking what he was seeing.

His chest felt heavy. Like a tightness around his heart. The memory of hearing his own name in Hansol’s voice made him want to curl up on himself. It almost hurt. But it was a hurt he wanted more of, to chase the pain. The cool smooth surface of the cards under his fingers now felt like wet skin. Fingertips against his. Fingertips dimpled from rain. His own or someone else’s, Minghao wasn’t sure. He wasn’t skilled enough to understand the strong reading. It hit him like a brick wall.

When it ended, Minghao felt like all of the air was stolen from his lungs—physically ripped out of him. Minghao took a moment just to catch his breath before he could focus on Hansol’s face. He looked concerned, maybe curious for what he saw.

“Are you okay? What was that?” Hansol asked, obviously worried.

“Uh, a reading,” Minghao started. If it was anything like what his mom experienced, he wondered how she could seem so calm about it.

He didn’t say anything for a while after that. Still trying to put the pieces together. To understand what he felt. Why it seemed to be his own future and not Hansol’s grandmother’s. Minghao wasn’t sure if he liked what that could possibly mean.

“Something important is going to happen at the end of summer,” Minghao said, breaking the silence between them. He knew Hansol wanted to know whatever he just felt, so Minghao didn’t bother stalling it. “It’ll be raining, or at least I think so.”

“What will happen? Do you know? Did you see it?” Hansol asked, clearly impressed with Minghao’s abilities.

“Sorry, I couldn’t see anything about what it was. But I could tell it was late summer, maybe early autumn...the weather is cool, there’s a lot of rain. I heard your voice,” Minghao explained.

“What did I say? Was my grandmother there?” Hansol asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” Minghao said, knowing full well what Hansol’s voice had said. He just didn’t know how to tell him it was his name. He couldn’t figure out why he was with Hansol, in the rain. He just knew that whatever they were doing, it would be coming in the next few months, when the August heat tapered off into autumn. Maybe Minghao would have a better vision for him. Maybe that’s what he’s telling Hansol in the future. Of news about his grandmother. Minghao didn’t know what it meant. “I’m sorry that’s all I can give you.”

“It’s more than enough, thank you. You’re really amazing.” Hansol smiled. A genuine smile, not forced. Minghao thought it looked good on him. He hoped Hansol would be back. It was a little selfish, to hope to try to understand more of the vision that told him he’d be in Hansol’s future. But maybe Hansol would want to know why as well. Well, if he ever told Hansol.

He liked the idea of being in Hansol’s future. He always looked forward to Hansol’s visits. Maybe it was because it was nice to see a kid his age around the office, even if it was only sporadically. Seeing Hansol was a nice break from all the other customers, who were all about 80 years old, Minghao figured.

And then it hit him. Minghao _liked_ Hansol. He hadn’t realized it, the way he stared at Hansol from the corner of his vision when he came over, trying to be discrete as he watched Hansol’s movements, studying the sound of his voice from the safety of sitting behind a closed door, the way Hansol’s lips curved into the shape of a heart when he laughed. The way he let his tongue escape his lips when he focused on something, his habit of brushing hair behind his ear when he was nervous. The way he trusted Minghao to do his readings.

Minghao noticed all of these things about Hansol because he liked them. He liked Hansol. And the things he did without knowing.

He needed to know what was going to happen in that rain. What Hansol would tell him. He hoped it would be something like a confession. Something to tell Minghao that maybe Hansol felt the same way about him.

 

***

 

Pushing scrambled eggs around in the frying pan, Minghao’s mother asked, “How did your reading go with Hansol? See anything good?”

Minghao nearly choked on the eggs he’d been chewing mindlessly. “Nothing special, just forecasted some rain for him,” Minghao tried to say nonchalantly.

Turning to face her son, she said, “You had a vision? A clear one?”

“I’m not sure if you could call it _clear._ All I got was that something important was going to happen when it was raining—like a cold rain, some time later in the summer probably. It’s probably something about his grandmother; you know he always asks about her. Maybe he’ll receive some good news in the coming  weeks.”

“I bet he will,” she smiled, returning back to the frying pan.

Minghao hated how she probably knew what Hansol’s future was when he didn’t. If she was allowing Minghao to do his readings, she probably wanted to see if Minghao could see what she did. He secretly—and selfishly—hoped whatever was going to happen in the rain wouldn’t be about Hansol’s grandmother. Minghao wished he could ask his mother, but maybe she didn’t see what he did. She probably had answers for Hansol’s questions about his grandmother, not Minghao’s questions about Hansol.

 

***

 

“Did you want some tea?” Minghao asked, holding the heavy curtain back so Hansol could pass through the entranceway into the office. It was Hansol’s first time returning to get a reading since the one Minghao did two weeks ago. Minghao wouldn’t say he was excited about Hansol’s visit (but he was totally excited Hansol came back to see him-- _specifically_ him, not his mother).

“Like, regular tea? Or are you gonna do some magic with it?” Hansol asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean, it’ll be regular tea, but I can read the leaves when you’re done. Just something different from what you’ve done before,” Minghao said, trying to come off as nonchalant when in reality he had been waiting for Hansol to return ever since his last reading. He wanted to know more about his vision of the rain.

“Okay, sure,” Hansol smiled.

“Alright, follow me,” Minghao replied, leading Hansol to the door that connected the office to their apartment. Upon opening the door, it revealed the steep staircase leading to the kitchen.

“We’re not gonna do this downstairs?” Hansol asked, trying to focus on not slipping down the stairs.

“It’ll be easier to do it in the kitchen; that’s where all the tea is.”

“There’s a kitchen up there?” Hansol asked.

“Yeah, we live up here,” Minghao said, trying to keep Hansol’s cautious pace climbing the stairs.

Hansol released a small _oh,_ obviously interested to see what a witch’s house looked like.

But, sadly for him, it looked just like any other house. Ceramic tile floors in the kitchen that matched those in the backsplash behind the gas range, reflecting sunlight in pastel blue and mint hues, with touches of yellow as well. The cabinets were a worn jade green—a little different from a regular kitchen, but they matched the seafoam walls nicely. There was a small breakfast nook by the large window home to a small ivy plant at the end of the kitchen—that’s where Minghao offered Hansol to sit. Minghao noticed Hansol was trying to look around, but trying not to be so obvious about it. He thought it was kind of cute for Hansol to be so interested in Minghao’s apartment. For Hansol to think Minghao was interesting or something. It was nice.

“We only have oolong tea—is that okay? It works the best for readings,” Minghao said, standing in front of an open cabinet, pulling out a canister of loose tea leaves. “And it’s my favorite,” he added.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Hansol replied, eyes focusing on Minghao now.

Minghao took the kettle that was already resting on the stove and filled it with water—enough for the two of them. Then Minghao resumed his position in front of the stove, and tried concentrating. Concentrating every fiber of his being into lighting the spark of the gas range, just like he’d done before. Maybe he wanted to impress Hansol. Or maybe he wanted to know if the first time he was able to light the range was a fluke—maybe his mother who was standing behind him actually lit it for him. Without her here, it would be the true test.

Everything was silent. And maybe that’s what bothered Hansol. He probably didn’t know what Minghao was doing—a tea prayer or something weird like that? Why else would someone stand in front of their stove holding a kettle, lips mouthing the words _ignis_ repeatedly.

Just as Minghao’s brain registered Hansol speaking his own name—“Minghao?” _—_ the spark caught. Minghao placed the kettle on the flame and turned to Hansol who was staring at the flame intently.

“Did you do that?” Hansol asked.

“Yeah,” Minghao smiled.

“Without touching the stove or anything?” Hansol asked with an open-mouthed grin. Minghao nodded in response. “That’s really cool. Is that how you usually make tea? With your _mind?_ ”

“No, we usually just turn on the stove manually like anyone else. But sometimes I like to practice—just to make sure I’m not as bad as I think I am,” Minghao said, going back to the cabinets for mugs. “And you don’t use your mind—I don’t have telekinetic powers or anything—it’s all spells my mom teaches me.”

“Cool, like, Latin stuff?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“I heard that comes in handy if you wanna be a doctor or lawyer—that Latin stuff.”

“Too bad all it helps me with is magic,” Minghao grinned, adding a moment later, “You want any sugar or anything?” and trying not to think about how Hansol thought highly of him.

“Won’t that mess up the reading or something?”

“Not sugar or honey—cream, yes,” Minghao told him.

“Then sure, I’ll have a little bit of sugar.”

Minghao retrieved two mugs from the cabinet and set them on the small table in front of Hansol.

“Take your pick,” Minghao instructed him.

“I thought we’d be using those fancy little tea cups, like ones for psychic powers or something—not a mug that says _World’s Best Mom.”_

“So is that your pick?” Minghao asked, brow raised.

“No, I’ll take the one with flowers on it.”

“Okay, cool.” Minghao moved to fiddle in the silverware drawer below the cabinet he’d just been in and found a spoon. He brought the tea over to the table and put one spoonful of loose leaves into each mug. On returning the tea to the cupboard, he retrieved the tin of sugar, giving each mug a spoonful. The kettle began whistling, so Minghao returned the sugar to the cabinet, grabbed the kettle and poured hot water into each mug, using the spoon to stir their sugar in.

“Okay, so now what?” Hansol asked.

“You wait for it to cool and then you drink it.”

“There’s no special ritual or something? A specific way to drink it?”

“Just try not to burn yourself.” Minghao smiled, taking his seat across Hansol at the breakfast nook.

“So, have you done this before?” Hansol asked, waiting until he could drink his tea.

“Not for any customers, no. My mom does it a lot for me, trying to show me how to read the symbols.”

“So then I’m your first customer to test your skills?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘customer.’ More like, the first friend I’ve tried it for,” Minghao smiled.

They both took sips in silence, Minghao watching as Hansol rushed through his mug, maybe excited to get his fortune told, his gaze focused out the window, maybe watching the birds in the backyard. Minghao’s mother’s gardening brought all kinds of birds, especially loud ones in the morning. Maybe she did something to attract them, some sort of spell. Or maybe the birds just appreciated the only patch of green within the busy city.

“Okay,” Hansol said, pushing his mug toward Minghao, “Can you read it?”

“Gimme a sec,” Minghao said. He grabbed both mugs and walked them over to the sink, dumping out any extra liquid, then returned to the table. He eyed the mug decorated with flowers and tried to read the leaves stuck around the ceramic interior. The symbols were like a slap in the face. The image of a vase on the rim of his cup. Of course, that one was probably his fault.

He turned his attention to the bottom of the mug. A flock of birds. Better. Not as directly incriminating Minghao for hiding his intentions with Hansol. Maybe it would mean that the good news is Minghao liking him back--that is, if Hansol was hoping Minghao liked him, meaning he liked Minghao too. But it could also mean that perhaps his grandmother is going to recover—not everything was about Minghao.

“So? What can you see?” Hansol asked with a curious expression, breaking their silence.

“Uhh, it looks like you’ll receive some good news in your distant future,” Minghao hesitated.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Hansol chuckled. “What about yours? What is your future?” he added, gesturing towards Minghao’s tea leaves in the _World’s Best Mom_ mug he had purchased for his mother six Christmases ago. As a child, he really believed those words, enough to buy his mother a mug featuring them. He still believed them.

Minghao eyed the mug, letting out a huff of annoyance at the leaves.

“What did you get?” Hansol asked.

“Well, there’s a hare on the side of the mug.”

“A hair? That’s pretty gross.”

“No—like a rabbit—a hare.”

“Oh. what’s that mean?”

“Something important is going to happen. In some aspect of my life.”

“Well, can you tell which one? Maybe you’re gonna get really good at magic or something. Like, a lot of people will come to you for readings, or something,” Hansol smiled.

Minghao didn’t bother telling him the symbol at the bottom of his mug was the harp.

 

***

 

“You know, I’ve been thinking about your future,” Minghao said, Nintendo 64 controller in his hands.

“Like, the fact that you’re gonna beat me in Mario Kart, or something else?” Hansol replied.

“No, no, about your fortunes—with the divination and scrying,” Minghao said, serious expression pulling his lips into a tight line, but still focusing enough on the game to keep beating Hansol.

“The _what_?”

“ _Scrying._ You know, like trying to see your future—like we tried with the juice.”

Ever since Hansol first started coming to Minghao, they had tried several techniques to try to understand Hansol’s future, and Minghao’s first vision, better. One technique Minghao tried was hydromancy--trying to scry with a bowl of liquid. Minghao’s mother usually used red wine in a glass bowl, the dark liquid being a good medium for reflecting images and such. Minghao’s mother kept the wine locked up in the liquor cabinet, so Minghao couldn’t use it with Hansol. So Minghao used the next best thing--berry pomegranate V8 juice they had in the fridge.

All that happened was Minghao making Hansol sit in his room because his leg shaking under the table of the breakfast nook was creating ripples in the juice, preventing Minghao from seeing anything clearly. And without Hansol in the room, Minghao couldn’t get a strong enough connection to see anything about Hansol’s future. Or maybe it was the fact that he tried using V8 juice that prevented a good reading.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the first reading I did for you—with the deck. I feel like all the other readings I’ve done for you relate to it somehow. There’s something important about late summer. When it’s raining. About you receiving good news. I think I’m going to be the one to give you the news. Like, maybe I’ll be giving you a really good fortune—like actually seeing something helpful or insightful or whatever,” Minghao explained, barely paying attention to the screen, but still securing first place with Yoshi.

“I think all the readings you’ve done for me already have been pretty insightful,” Hansol said, falling off rainbow road for the third time, tongue darting out in frustration.

“I haven’t really told you anything. Like, is there any news you’re waiting to hear about? About your grandmother or anything? I think that’s what I’ll be able to see. Like, all these readings are leading up to that one.” Yoshi was taking his victory lap, waiting for Donkey Kong to finish the race.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But I feel like we’ll know whenever you see it,” Hansol said, finally crossing the finish line.

“All I know is that we’re both going to be there—in the rain. I think we should try going out when it’s raining and see if I get the vision. It must be pretty important—if the first vision was that strong, you know?”

“Maybe,” Hansol said, adding after a moment, “I don’t think anyone should be this good at Mario Kart. Are you using magic or something?” He brushed his long bangs out of his eyes, only for them to fall back against his forehead.

“I’ve played this so many times growing up by myself that I basically have all the courses memorized.”

“That’s… kind of sad, dude,” Hansol said, setting down his controller to look at Minghao from where he was sitting next to him, back leaning against his messy bed across from the TV.

“I’m homeschooled by my mom, so I don’t really have any friends who aren’t my cousins. And they only visit a few times a year when my aunts come to stay for a bit.”

“Why don’t you go to public school? I’m pretty sure we’d be in the same grade. We could hang out all the time—like, even when it’s not summer break,” Hansol told him. “Does your mom teach you how to be a good psychic or something?” Hansol asked, a little enthused. In a quieter voice, nearly a whisper, Hansol added eagerly, “Does she teach you magic spells?”

“She mostly teaches me algebra—chemistry too.”

“What? That’s no fun,” Hansol huffed, chuckle escaping onto the last syllable.

“I’m pretty sure it’s like some government regulation that if I’m homeschooled, I have to be taught the normal curriculum—the stuff that’ll be on the GED.”

“So why don’t you just go to public school then?”

“Because she also teaches me cool magic stuff,” Minghao smiled. “And public schools aren’t too keen on witches in their school.”

“What? That’s discrimination,” Hansol huffed, sounding a little offended. Minghao wasn’t sure if he was actually offended, or just acting like it—being a good friend and everything.

Trying to hold back a chuckle of his own, Minghao replied, “They just don’t like the idea of a witch who supposedly specializes in telling the future taking their standardized tests. You know, seeing the answers and everything giving me an unfair advantage.”

“But you can barely tell the future,” Hansol started, and quickly caught himself. “I don’t mean that in a bad way! I’m sorry. Out of all the people I know who can tell the future, you can tell it the best! I’m sorry, dude, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How many people do you know who can tell the future?” Minghao laughed at Hansol’s sincerity.

“Well, just you really. But you’re the best at it,” he smiled.

“Thanks,” Minghao replied, returning a smile before choosing another course for them to play.

 

***

 

Minghao sat at the bay window in his mother’s office, early morning light illuminating the green of the leaves and vines around him. He was watching his mother brew some of the day’s orders—potion for luck for Mr. Harvey’s son who was the captain of the high school soccer team about to play the game that decided division champs, potion for good health for Mr. Wells’ wife, a fertility serum for little old lady Ridwell’s garden which wasn’t doing well this year. Minghao’s mother was throwing different ingredients into a boiling stew--with a swish of her finger, the spoon mixed the broth on its own while she used the mortar and pestle to grind herbs.

He loved watching his mother work. She was so knowledgeable and talented—unlike her son. He wondered if he really inherited any magic abilities from her at all. Turning his attention to a flower bud on a nearby plant, with labored focus, Minghao could make the tiny bud bloom into a pure white flower. That’s what he was best at really. Little spells like that. Making flowers bloom, sometimes turning the page of a book, lighting the gas range with Hansol. Surprisingly, he was better at spells than fortune-telling—if that was any indication of his psychic skill (or lack thereof).

Finally tearing his gaze from the flower, Minghao turned to his mother’s backside where she was still grinding different substances, Minghao said, “Hansol hasn’t ordered anything for his grandmother’s health in a while. Do you think she’s recovering?” He was trying to hide his disappointment concerning Hansol’s absence this month. No spells. No readings. He was worried Hansol didn’t believe in their magic anymore. Maybe Hansol figured Minghao’s readings weren’t good enough, not worth his time.

“You’re the one doing his readings now, can’t you tell me?” she replied with a smile.

“You know I’m not good at it,” Minghao groaned.

“He keeps coming back, doesn’t he?” she said, turning to look at her son sitting at the window.

“He hasn’t come by in a few weeks. What if I scared him away? With my lack of witch powers or whatever,” Minghao said, trying to mask the fear in his voice that what he was saying was actually true.

“It’s summer break now for the high school. He could be on vacation,” Minghao’s mother told him, taking the mortar and sprinkling the mix into the bubbling pot that separated them. “You’re getting quite good with the flowers.”

“Yeah, but nobody comes to us to make a flower bloom,” Minghao replied, voice sullen, eyeing the flower.

“It’ll help when you’re making spells. Brewing a protection spell about this time when the heather haven’t bloomed is quite a tricky task.”

Minghao sighed.

“Don’t doubt the power of anthomancy—flowers can tell us anything those cards can,” she added, using her forearm to push her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “That’s a beautiful Gardenia,” she smiled, glancing at the plant Minghao was focused on. “I’m sure Hansol will be back soon,” she hummed, turning back to gather more ingredients.

Minghao kept his gaze on his little white flower, wondering what it could tell him about Hansol. His mother probably understood what it meant, but Minghao only knew how to make it bloom.

 

***

 

Since Hansol hadn’t visited in a while, Minghao’s mother wanted him to keep up with his training; she set him up to do Mrs. Gerald’s reading. Mrs. Gerald was a really nice old woman, widowed three years ago, who always came by Minghao’s mother’s shop to buy spells for her grandchildren and garden. She spent a lot of time with Minghao’s mother when her husband first fell ill, and she kept coming in, even now.

“You’re getting quite tall,” the little woman said when Minghao was searching the room for the deck of cards. “How old are you know?” she added with a smile.

“I turned seventeen last November,” he replied, still searching through drawers for the deck.

“Oh my, will you be taking over for your mother when you turn eighteen?”

“You should hope not—I’m still not any good at this stuff,” Minghao said, finally finding the cards on a table covered by vines of ivy.

“You’re doing my reading.”

“You’re only the second real customer I’ve had on my own. The only other person who was coming in hasn’t returned in a while,” Minghao said, gloom in his voice. He couldn’t mask his disappointment; he missed Hansol. He missed hanging out with a person under 70 who wasn’t his mother.

“Maybe they’re just busy—no need to worry so much,” she replied with a sympathetic smile as Minghao took a seat at the table across from her.

“It’s summer break, Hansol should be free all the time to hang out me—you know, for the readings,” Minghao said, stumbling over his words so he didn’t so desperate, so lonely.

“Hansol Chwe? It’s a shame what happened to his grandmother,” Mrs. Gerald mused, eyes looking down at her own wrinkled hands on the table.

“Yeah, he’d been coming in for the last few months about her health. I guess it’s selfish for me to want him to spend all his time with me,” Minghao said, not meaning to let the second part slip from his lips.

“I bet he’ll come back soon. He probably needs a friend like you at a time like this,” Mrs. Gerald replied, putting a reassuring hand over one of Minghao’s still gripping the deck.

Minghao hoped she was right. As selfish as it was, he missed Hansol.

 

***

 

A week later, Minghao got a call from Hansol. “It’s gonna rain tonight, do you wanna meet me at the corner store on Fifth street? Let’s see if you were right about that rain thing.” Minghao could hear the smile in his voice over the phone. He had missed it.

Minghao was relieved he finally was hearing from Hansol, but tried to play it off like he didn’t notice his absence. It didn’t seem like Hansol was making a big deal out of it, so Minghao wouldn’t either. But a smile stuck to his face until the sun set, when he left to meet Hansol.

Sitting on the curb in front of the convenience store, chocolate milkshake in hand (the kind that you stick into the weird milkshake machine and it stirs it for you and everything—technology is amazing, it really puts magic to shame these days), Hansol turned to Minghao and asked, “So when did you know you find out you were a witch? You know—psychic?” It’s a question Hansol had been meaning to ask. Not so much in the way that he was dying to know, but it just felt like something you asked a kid who you had been hanging out with for a few of weeks who’d been telling your fortune. Growing up traditionally made witches always seem a lot more exciting.

“I think I’m still waiting for that moment,” Minghao said, chewing on the red straw from his ICEE.

Hansol knit his brows and stared at Minghao for only a brief moment before asking, “What do you mean? You’re the witchiest person I know. It’s pretty cool.”

“You’ve met my mom. I’m nothing like her,” Minghao sighed around the straw he was still chewing between his teeth.

“Okay, but you’re also only seventeen years old. There’s tons of time to learn how to forecast the weather or whatever she can do,” Hansol tried assuring him.

“She’s not a meteorologist,” Minghao managed to laugh.

“Okay, then tell me what’s the coolest thing your mom can do,” Hansol said. And it wasn’t for him. And Minghao maybe knew that.

“She can do this thing, where she takes my hands in hers, and she looks me in the eyes and tells me she loves me, and promises me that everything’s gonna be okay,” Minghao replied, eyes casted downwards at his feet, lips curving into a smile around the straw.

“Does she have a vision or something?”

“No, it’s not any psychic power or magic. But it’s something only she can do. And she’s always right.”

Hansol stared at him for a moment, noticing Minghao’s softened expression, and softened his own to smile back. He turned back to look at the nearly desolate parking lot in front of them, sipping on his cheap milkshake.

They sat in silence for a while--not an awkward silence, but a gentle silence that carried the feeling that whatever was going on between them didn’t need words.

The moon was slowly being encased in dark shadows from clouds. “Do you think this will be the night? The night you get that psychic vision thing?” Hansol asked, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky. Even the stars were being replaced with a deep blackness. It was the first time the two of them met up for the rain, trying to recreate the scene.

“Maybe,” Minghao replied, looking up at the sky now as well. He wanted to know what Hansol was going to tell him. Maybe that he liked him back? Was that being too wishful? Was it being weird? If Hansol thought they were friends and everything.

“We can wait and see,” Hansol told him, pulling the sleeves of his worn-out hoodie over his palms so he could continue gripping his milkshake without his hands going numb.

“Aren’t you bored? Just sitting and waiting around for the right night?”

“No, I like spending time with you. You’re really cool,” Hansol told him, not taking his gaze off the sky. “And it’s not because you’re psychic. I think you’re cool besides that,” he added with a smile.

“Why’s that?”

“Because no one else wants to sit outside of a convenience store at one in the morning drinking a slushie with me.”

“It’s an ICEE,” Minghao corrected him, lips turned upwards. “Are you still going to want to do this when school starts again? I can’t expect you to meet me here every time the forecast is scheduled for rain.”

“I’ll meet you here whenever you want—even if it’s not raining,” Hansol smiled. “I wanna know what your vision meant. Besides, I always get milkshakes here and they’re really good.”

“Do you like me just because we always get food together?”

“Nnnnmaybe,” Hansol replied. Minghao shoved him off the curb, knocking the milkshake from his hand. “Dude!” Hansol laughed. He picked the cup back off the ground, putting the straw back to his lips in a faux-antagonizing act.

“That was on the ground,” Minghao stated bluntly.

“But the insides weren’t,” Hansol smiled around the straw. “Still good.”

“You’re disgusting,” Minghao smiled. “You know, I missed you the past month,” Minghao said, biting his straw between his back teeth, trying not to appear sappy, but doing just that.

“I missed you too, man,” Hansol replied. “And I’ve been craving this milkshake for weeks,” He added with a smile.

Minghao pushed him off the curb again.

“Hey!” Hansol laughed. “Seriously though, I’m gonna be around all the time now, until school starts again. And we can still hang out then too. After classes and stuff.”

Minghao was glad Hansol still wanted to hang out with him, even when they weren’t doing any scrying or fortune telling. It made Minghao feel normal--the only time in his life he could feel like a teenager, and not a witch’s son.

 

***

 

A couple weeks had gone by with Hansol meeting Minghao in the rain, meeting him at the shop, waiting for the rain, waiting for something else. When Minghao heard the rain falling against the roof above him again, he instinctively reached for his phone, and when Hansol picked up they both knew what the call was about.

When Hansol reached the store, breathing labored, he asked “Is this the rain that you’ll get the reading in?” He squinted his eyes, blinking to try to keep the rain from them. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, rain dripping from the long ends onto his face.

“I can’t feel anything. Maybe tonight isn’t the night,” Minghao basically had to shout for Hansol to hear him.

He wanted to feel the rain against his skin, to know if it was the right rain. The heavy, cold rain he hoped Hansol would confess to him in. Having tossed off his jacket before leaving, goosebumps were appearing on his bare arms, just as the vision predicted. But it could be because it was just a cold rainy night and Minghao was in a tank top. Neither of them ever bothered to bring an umbrella. Minghao opted out of having one because he remembered the sensation of being hit with rainfall—not protected by an umbrella. Minghao assumed Hansol never brought one because he was too excited about being with Minghao when he got the vision to stop and grab one.

“Do you know what kind of vision it is? Like, good news or anything?” Hansol replied, looking at the sky, then back to Minghao’s face as if the answer was in the air around them.

“Sort of,” Minghao lied. He was hoping the aching in his heart would be from hearing those three words from Hansol. The wet skin under his fingertips belonging to Hansol. Even if Minghao’s subsequent readings didn’t help him understand the vision any more than it taking place in the rain, all the times Minghao tried to see Hansol’s future made him fall for Hansol more and more. Making him wish for a reading that would show him Hansol felt the same way.

And this must not have been the night of such reading, because Hansol would be telling him something different. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of August, maybe more towards September, October even. Maybe it would be a year from now, when Hansol knew more about him. Knew that Minghao had lived in that tiny yellow house with the white shutters and the palm on the front door for seventeen years. Knew that Minghao always dreamed of traveling to the coast—he’d never seen the ocean before. Knew that Minghao always carried hematite in his back pocket.

“Well, what is it?” Hansol asked.

Gazing up at the black sky, Minghao sighed. He figured he had to tell Hansol what he thought the vision would be. There was no use in waiting for a vision that may have been wrong all along. “Back then, reading your fortune, I saw that in late August, when it was raining, we would be together. And I got this feeling that you were going to fall in love with me. That’s why I kept bringing you out here in the rain, to see if it would be the night I felt back then. The night you say you loved me,” Minghao said, face cast downwards now.

“I would fall in love with you?” Hansol asked.

“Yeah, I know it’s weird. And I guess I was wrong. But I was hoping it’d be the one of the first readings I ever got right.” Minghao sighed, letting his knees buckle and fell to the ground. He brought his legs to his chest and said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any readings about your grandmother. I know that’s what you wanted.”

Hansol took a seat on the wet pavement next to Minghao, arms resting on his knees. The both of them were already soaked from the rain, sitting on the wet ground didn’t make a difference.

“I haven’t been hanging out with you looking for some reading about my grandmother,” Hansol said finally, breaking the silence between them.

Minghao turned to look at him, eyebrows knit in confusion.

“She passed a few weeks back, when I didn’t come visit for a while. Back then, your mom told me she smelled lilies, but she still made those spells for good health, even when she knew,” Hansol said, staring at his hands.

Minghao couldn’t tear his gaze away from Hansol. He’d been hanging out with Minghao, allowing Minghao to try to tell his fortune when he already knew it. Why? Did he pity Minghao? When all along Minghao thought Hansol trusted him—believed in his powers.

“So, you were wrong—tonight wasn’t the night I would fall in love with you,” Hansol said, lifting his eyes to focus on something in front of them.

Like glass shattering. Minghao had failed in his reading. He was so sure—he wanted to be sure. He wanted Hansol to like him back. And now Hansol knew Minghao liked him. He felt vulnerable.

“I fell in love with you weeks ago. I’ve liked you for a long time, Minghao,” Hansol smiled, with a laugh. Lips curving into a heart the way Minghao loved, turning to face Minghao, rain falling from his eyelashes onto his pink cheeks. He was beautiful. And he loved Minghao back.

“So, you didn’t fall in love with me in the late August rain? I was wrong?” Minghao asked, laughing because Hansol loved him back, but he was indeed wrong about his reading.

“Yeah, but you’ve never been good at seeing the future anyways,” Hansol laughed as he hooked an arm around Minghao’s neck, bringing him closer so their noses brushed against each other’s. Then lips touching, smile against smile, laughter against laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> god bless @nonbinarytaemin for being my beta and making this fic readable 
> 
> we needed more gay witch fics in the svt fandom  
> honestly
> 
> update: i made some minor edits to make it even more readable and of course nonbinary taemin helped again too
> 
> talk to me about witches please


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